Friday

Another frosty night. Frosty enough for the doors of the car to have frozen shut.

But the car was needed today. Lesley’s dad had yet another appointment with the GP so Lesley didn’t have the luxury of letting the train take the strain. And, since she hadn’t had a wink of sleep following a day with her dad and a fraught conversation with her sister, she didn’t feel safe to drive. So we were all going. Another adventure for The Dog.

She’s got the routine now. The signs are fairly obvious. Walking boots, warm coats, hats and scarves for us, dog food, treat pouches, a change of harness, towels, extra long line for her. She also knows she’s not allowed to get in the car until she’s been to the toilet.

The Dog also knows the new routine when we get to Dad’s. We don’t go straight out for a walk now. She knows that there’s a ton of stuff that we have to do for him before we can go out.

The new routine had a slight variation today though. We unloaded all our stuff and then put a wheelchair and Dad in the car. Lesley drove straight off with him to the doctor. The walk was just going to be Me and The Dog. She wasn’t keen on the idea.

We never left the village. Instead of going out and getting wet and muddy, we circled round the spots that she thought Lesley might be. Spots where we’ve had to wait for Lesley before. The little Tesco, the pharmacy, the butcher. Then we went home. And we waited.

Dad’s trip to the GP sounded like it had been OK. He’d been pleased to see that Dad’s belly wasn’t as distended and rigid as it had been but there was still more work to be done.

Lesley hadn’t been sure that Dad had properly understood the last discussion about his DNR wishes and felt he’d been bounced into something that was inappropriate. The result, with Lesley acting as translator and slowing the conversation down, seemed more nuanced and suitable. And he seemed to understand it and accept it. At the time at least.

Lesley was also able to let the GP know that Dad’s needs were now beyond, way beyond, what she could deliver herself or organise for him. He told her who to phone and what to say to them.

I was sent down to Tesco to get us some lunch. An unremarkable trip apart from a conversation with a very lovely lady that started with the line

“I’m most intrigued by your kilt!”

Lesley set to and got Dad some lunch while I chatted to him. Along the way, she did some washing up. I heard her open the kitchen bin but not put anything in it. Then she flew out the door and looked in his recycling bin.

“Dad? I told you to have some soup for your tea yesterday.”

“Yeah?”

“And I spoke to you later and you said you had soup for tea.”

“That’s right”

“So where’s the tin?”

“Er, but, er, but…”

“And there was no dirty soup bowl to be washed up either”

Busted.

The rest of the day was spent reminding Dad to drink, encouraging him to eat, adjusting his armchair to make him more comfortable when he wanted to sleep, getting him to the bathroom. I don’t know about Lesley but the Alzheimer’s label has made me a lot more comfortable about not waiting for him to vocalise a need before doing anything. We’ll know before he does. You see a need and you just get on and deal with it.

Quite how Lesley managed lengthy phone calls to the palliative care team and Social Services on top of all that was amazing. Now that I’m no longer visiting The Home every day I can see how much easier it was for me than it is for her. The hard decisions were taken out of my hands, I had the support of my family and once the process was done there was a huge team of skilled professionals looking after Mum’s every need. Lesley is doing it all on her own in the face of stiff resistance from her dad and sister.

The Dog got her proper walk. Always much more enjoyable for everyone when The Dog has both her humans with her. When we got to The River I said

“We won’t be able to leave very early today, We can’t leave until he’s eaten his tea. It’s no good telling him what to have and expecting him to do it now.”

He actually ate more then I’d seen him eat in a while. But eating seemed to tire him out. When he’d eaten as much as he was going to he tried to leave the dining table. But he crashed back down in the chair.

He sat there looking like he was trying to work out how he was going to stand up. It’s a sight we’ve seen a lot just recently.

“Can I help you with that?”

“Yes please”

Bloody hell.

Author’s Note

My Mum is in a nursing home in a small village in the Thames Valley. The photo is not of the home. I used an AI image generator to give the reader some idea of the home she’s in.

All, some or maybe even none (you’ll never know!) of the names have been changed to protect privacy and hide real identities. If you think you recognise someone then let me know and I’ll edit the post or remove it entirely